


Of Cold Stars and Warm Horizons

by BlueMinuet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Completely Unfounded Headcanons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Interfaction Friendship/Relationship, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17351798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMinuet/pseuds/BlueMinuet
Summary: “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Sixshot groaned, turning his face away. Burying it in the mud was sounding more and more like a good idea.Magnus clearly had other ideas, hauling him up by his collar fairings. “You’re right. It seems counterproductive to both of our respective missions.”Or: Five Times Sixshot and Ultra Magnus Crossed Paths on an Alien Planet, and One Time They Didn't





	Of Cold Stars and Warm Horizons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [privatepenne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/privatepenne/gifts).



> I was commissioned for Sixshot/Ultra Magnus, and man, you don't want to start a tag like that without something good to show for it.

It was a sunny day on Dorven VIII. Which was not, in the strictest sense, a good thing; A planet did not get to be the eighth of its system by being _close_ to its star. 

Ultra Magnus blinked up, his vantage giving him a great view of the abnormally bright, sickly looking sun. Then his view lurched, which led to other questions. 

“Stop squirming so much while I’m trying to save you…”

If anything, that made Magnus squirm more, kicking the leg that he now realized was more elevated than the rest of him. Whoever had spoken seemed to be content with cutting their losses and dropped the foot, letting it hit the ground and kick up a cloud of dust from the dry, barren earth. Magnus shot up to sit, only to relax when he saw Sixshot… 

… and then tense up again when he realized it was Sixshot. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Magnus asked, warily arming a cannon. 

Sixshot rolled his eyes, and with it his wings seemed to sag slightly from their rigid upright position. “I told you, I’m trying to save you.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes, sizing him up. “Why?”

To that, Sixshot only shrugged. 

Magnus disarmed his cannons and sighed into his hand. He recalled showing up here, on the trail of some suspicious activity. And he recalled running into Sixshot. Which was not much of an oddity in and of itself. He’d run into Sixshot quite a lot over the past few centuries. (With much more frequency than any of his predecessors had reported seeing him, Minimus had noted to himself.) It had gone the same as most of their encounters had; brief nods of hello, followed by posturing, and then getting straight into the firefight without much preamble beyond that. 

Magnus appreciated an opponent that understood his passion for efficiency. 

Then things had gotten particularly off the rails when the sun exploded. Or, not exploded, as the current light level seemed to suggest. 

Magnus looked up at Sixshot, then pointed up at the sky. “Did you do that?”

Sixshot looked up at the sun, not bothering to have the self-preservation to squint. “No. But I won’t lie, it’s pretty flattering that you think I could.”

Refusing to dignify that with a response, Magnus pushed on. “I meant, did the Decepticons do that? In general.”

Sixshot gave another wing-swaying shrug. “Not that I know of. But, I only go to one type of briefing, so…”

He held out a hand to help Magnus up. Or grab his pede again. Magnus wasn’t quite sure. He ignored it, either way, and stubbornly stood up on his own power. 

“I’ll tell you what I do know, though,” Sixshot said. “Whatever the hell happened up there put out an EMP blast that even knocked me on my aft. But apparently you’re back up and at it again already.” He gave Magnus a look that wasn’t quite wary. More intrigued, with some other kind of emotion in it that made Magnus want to squirm some more. “What exactly are you packing that makes you about as rough and ready as a Phase Sixer?”

Magnus glared at him while trying to pat some dust off his frame. “I’ll tell you that, if you tell me what exactly makes you think Phase Sixers are so impervious to damage.” Of course, there was no way he would reveal such a thing as the Magnus armor to a high level Decepticon. But, there was little to no chance Sixshot would bite anyway. 

As if reading his thoughts, Sixshot chuckled. “Don’t make offers you aren’t willing to follow through on.” He seemed to ignore Magnus’s shock, and looked up at the sky again instead. “Anyway, we should get you back to your ship. Whoever is doing… whatever the hell that is… well, it doesn’t matter, you should get out of here.”

“And what will you be doing while I’m fleeing?”

“Also fleeing,” Sixshot said. 

“You have a ship as well?”

Sixshot just looked at him blankly. 

“You are a ship,” Magnus said. “Right?”

“Hey, look who picked up sass!”

In payback for that comment, Magnus hit him lightly with a shoulder stack as he brushed by.  
  


* * *

  
On Chrylas V, Sixshot woke up in a muddy river bank. When he looked up, Magnus’s expression seemed nearly concerned. 

Nearly. 

His day had been going quite well until the lava flow of the tainted volcano nearby had gotten a lot more energetic, and threatened to put a boat-sized sized chunk of hot slag through his chest. And ununtrium coating or not, that stung a bit. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Sixshot groaned, turning his face away. Burying it in the mud was sounding more and more like a good idea. 

Magnus clearly had other ideas, hauling him up by his collar fairings. “You’re right. It seems counterproductive to both of our respective missions.”

Sixshot let himself be dragged for a moment. He wasn’t quite up to walking yet, but he felt like that might be more embarrassing than actual injury. He also wasn’t sure where they were going, but it wasn’t as if he had somewhere better to be. Magnus hadn’t started reading him his rights, so it didn’t seem like he was about to be taken as a prisoner of war. 

With no preamble, Magnus dropped him on a more solid tract of land. Gently, in a relative sense. 

“Is this because I saved you that one time?” He looked up at Magnus, and his expression was near unreadable. 

“I’m not keen on shrugging,” Magnus said. “It shows a disregard for clear and proper communication methods.” 

Sixshot blinked, wondering if maybe his processor had been melted in the blast too. “What?” 

“You shrugged at me, last time,” Magnus said. 

“And… you’re holding a grudge?” 

Magnus looked away. The sky was getting darker, more filled with ash. “I am saying my reasoning may be… equally vague.” 

Sixshot laughed. Then realized that laughing hurt. Then continued with it anyway. Magnus was already walking away by the time he stopped laughing. 

“‘Til next time?” Sixshot shouted over his shoulder. 

Magnus almost imperceptible paused, but waved without turning back. 

Sixshot huffed out another chest crushing laugh.  
  


* * *

  
Piridian bazaars were a sight to behold, glittering gems from worlds spanning the galaxy, works of art from civilizations so passionate as to make one weep. 

Of course, all of it was stolen. Piridians were fearsome pirates and conquerors. Magnus had, over time, eventually come to terms with the fact that Piridians were far out of his jurisdiction. Maybe someday, if the war were over and Cybertronians could successfully bid to join the galactic council… Well, it was too abstract to devote any thought towards. 

Still, it was worthwhile to stop by the bazaars when happening across one, since they were a common stomping ground for questionable characters of all species, including Cybertronians, and there was a high chance of Magnus picking up the trail of anyone he might be hunting for that was willing to skirt the law. 

And, well, if along the way he came across some engaging literature to starve off the boredom of deep space… he always silently promised himself to return it if he ever found the original owners, at least. 

“Oh, there you are.” 

Magnus nearly jumped out of his armor at sound of another Cybertronian voice, and whirled around. His shoulder stack nearly smacked Sixshot across the face, though Sixshot didn’t even deign to look phased by it. Magnus almost wished it hit him. 

Curse Phase Sixer stealth. 

Sixshot was juggling a few items in his arms, including some strange not-quite-energon candy, a stick of which was jutting out of his mouth currently. Magnus did a double take at that. He tried to remember if he had ever actually seen Sixshot without his battlemask before. He thought about searching through the other Magnus’s archives, before deciding it was irrelevant. 

“I got you something,” Sixshot muttered around the candy. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

Sixshot shrugged, almost dropping some of his haul as he rifled through the items. “I was nearby.” 

Magnus frowned at that. “Doing what?” 

“Don’t ruin the moment by asking stuff you don’t actually wanna know.” 

Magnus was ashamed that he actually considered rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, here it is,” Sixshot finally said, pulling a book out from his haul. 

Magnus blinked as it was shoved into his hands. He flipped it over a bit. It wasn’t electronic, but the material of it was much more sturdy and durable than the organic materials that many species used for their books. He scanned a few pages, trying to see if he could find a language pack for it on the database. Shockingly, there was one, uploaded by an anonymous user. The language pack database was one of the last neutral Cybertronian databases, as enforced by the Tyrest Accord, so there was a good chance Sixshot had a good idea of what the book was as well. “Is this… a poetry book?” 

Sixshot hummed. “You found the language pack, right? Check the acknowledgement notes.” 

Magnus pulled them up from the pack, not sure what was so interesting about them, until Sixshot tapped at the book’s cover. The acknowledgement notes on the language pack thanked a “Lek Clan” — whatever that was — and following Sixshot’s pointing, the cover of the book said that it was compiled by… “Taingrin Ch’Lek?” Magnus read aloud. “You think there’s a connection?” 

Sixshot shrugged. “You like solving mysteries, right?” He nodded his head over his shoulder. “Piridian I bought it from said he got it from a guy who got it from a guy, who… well, there were a lot of hands on it, but sounds like it came off a Cybertronian. Weird, right?”

Magnus frowned at him. “I solve crimes, not pedestrian mysteries like where random books came from.” 

“Well, I thought you might be interested in who’s out there doing some extracurricular first contacts. ‘Cause Decepticons don’t normally end up getting gifts, so…” He shrugged again. “Either way, figured you might like it.” He tapped at Magnus’s chest panel. “I’m sure there’s a poetry lover deep, deep down there, right?” He didn’t seem to take any notice of the odd look Magnus gave him. “Anyway, candy?” He held out the bag. 

Deep, deep down, Minimus sighed, and so did his armor.  
  


* * *

  
Sixshot had once been duped by a Talsaliak trader, hocking crystals at a bazaar. It was the antennae, he realized later, that meant you could never really get a read on them unless you could read their little fiddly bits. Like seekers with their infernal wing flutters. 

For that, Sixshot vowed he would gladly destroy the entire planet, given half the chance, Phase Six or not. 

But now, on the barren tundra wasteland of the planet’s surface, it hardly seemed worth it. 

Especially not with Magnus practically sitting on him. 

Sixshot crossed his paws and set his head down, trying to arrange his wings in a way that was comfortable, half-curled around Magnus as he was. He was pretty sure Magnus had mostly arranged him like this to make sure he wasn't able to slip away and continue his quest to dig through the crust and wreak havoc on the underground civilization. 

Which was exactly what Magnus had caught him doing, before the cold got to both of them, creeping into the gaps in their armor and making their joints creak dangerously, until they had to mutually pull each other into a craggy cavern in the rock face. Magnus had a fire going, on the other side from where his back was pinning Sixshot to the rock.

Sixshot tried to push his paws closer to the fire. 

“Are you mad at me?” Sixshot asked. 

Magnus looked down at him, and seeing his dubious look, Sixshot felt a wave of embarrassment. 

“Primus, what a stupid question,” Sixshot muttered, turning his head away and trying to look aloof (even as he missed the heat of the fire on his nose). “I destroy planets. It’s what I do.” 

Magnus said nothing. 

“I mean, I wasn’t ordered to destroy this one.” _Honestly, I was just bored,_ he thought, but didn’t say, because even in his mind the words sounded mortifyingly vulnerable. 

He was used to being bored. He was used to feeling achingly alone, with stars whirling past his window as he waited for deployment, with not another single soul to interrupt the maddening silence. Sometimes he thought being left to his own thoughts was the worst. But no, it was once he had exhausted every single mind numbing line of thought to the furthest extreme, that was the worst. 

Sometimes, he wondered if being the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord was equally mind numbing. Certainly, Magnus was less feared by his faction. Maybe. But he was still left on his own to drift through space, wait for the next infraction to address. 

He dropped that thought, bored with it already (or maybe just afraid of where it might go) and just let himself listen to the silence. Magnus’s engine had a multilayered hum to it, and despite himself, Sixshot felt comforted. He’d long suspected that Magnus might be a triple changer, but had never said anything. 

The sound of another multi-mode was somehow just alluring enough to make him let his guard down, if only for a moment. 

“I don’t care if you’re mad at me, anyway,” Sixshot grumbled. 

He couldn’t prove it, but he was almost certain he heard Magnus laugh just under the gusting wind.  
  


* * *

  
Ultra Magnus glared at the gun pointed at his chest. 

He glared more when the hand holding it fell, and Sixshot looked away. The sounds of battle were far off from them now, rumbling like thunder in the distance. Magnus pushed himself up as much as he could, half buried in a ditch as he was, and scowled. “You’re not going to spare me now are you? Again? When you’ve got me on the ropes?” 

Infuriatingly, Sixshot shrugged. “We know how this ends.” 

Magnus pushed himself up to his knees, and scowled. “And what’s the excuse this time? We spare each other when we fight to a draw, or when some force of nature intercedes. But from my count we’re even on saving each other. What makes you think you can take it easy on me now?” 

Sixshot looked down at him, regarding him cooly. His glance didn’t look angry. Just tired. 

Maybe sad, but Magnus felt no urge to explore that and nearly looked away at the thought. 

“Consider this one a courtesy,” he said, holtering the gun. “One soldier to another. One beastformer to another. However you wanna justify it.” 

Magnus shot up to his feet. In the back of his processor, he was screaming to school that reaction, but he couldn’t. “I… who told you… what makes you…” 

Once again, Sixshot shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ve had suspicions for a while. Especially after Talsaliak. I’m guessing you’re a triple changer.” 

Relief washed over Magnus, but he looked away. Better to let Sixshot think whatever he suspected was right… Better than letting on the truth, he supposed.

“I won’t tell,” Sixshot said. “If that’s so shameful among you Autobots.” 

“It’s not like that…” Magnus looked back at him, considering. “So… you?” 

Sixshot huffed. “You think when some mad scientist comes up to you and says they’re giving you four extra modes, winged-wolf makes the top of your list?” 

Magnus considered that for a moment, looking at Sixshot with a careful glance. 

“Whatever,” Sixshot said. “Run back to your Autobots.” He started walking away, and Magnus watched every move. “Gotta get back to our missions, right?” 

“I’m not mad,” Magnus shouted after him. 

Sixshot paused, before transforming into his aerial mode and flying off. 

Magnus vented deeply. “Not mad,” he whispered to himself.  
  


* * *

  
After all Cybertron had been through, the Sea of Rust never changed. Occasionally people came through, citizens or settlers making their way through the still-wild parts of Cybertron. Sixshot often wondered how many of them saw him. Whether maybe he was an urban legend by now, the beast lurking in the sandstorm. 

He flopped onto a hot shelf of sandstone, crossing his paws, and angling his wings as a poor shield against the wind and debris. He thought that the wasteland would be a welcome change; no stars to be seen and haunted by. Instead, it became quite clear, very quickly, that he had only traded one solitude for another. 

Which was fine. What other choice was there, afterall. 

As he tried to get comfortable, he looked out, spotting something flickering through the rusted wind. A turbofox, no doubt, as they were everywhere out here. 

But no, as he looked closer, trying as best he could to track its path, it became clear this was something more. The flash of green across its hide was the first sign, but beyond that, no turbofox ever moved with such methodical purpose. If one started a marching beat, this creature would fall right in line. 

He stood, preparing himself to deal with whatever was coming his way, but having lost track of it, he whirled, and nearly leaped into the air when he found it before him. It sat primly on its haunches, looking up at him with a red glance. 

“There you are,” it said, with too familiar a tone for its unfamiliar voice. “I’d heard tell of a monster out in the Sea, and I wondered.” 

Sixshot ducked his head, sniffing as well as he could under the howling wind, to get any info his olfactory sensors could give him, but the end, it was the sound that gave him away. He pressed a disbelieving ear against the tiny thing, so hastily that he nearly knocked him over. 

“Easy,” the fox groused. 

“Magnus?” he whispered, too bewildered to muster anything louder. 

“You can call me Minimus,” he said, and Sixshot swore he was smirking. “I’m sorry to say your theory about triple changing missed the mark a bit.” 

Sixshot huffed, looking at him. 

“I came looking for you,” Minimus said. “Because—” 

“Hold that thought,” Sixshot said pulling himself up to his full height. It was downright an odd thing to come to terms with, Magnus — Minimus — so small that he hardly reached Sixshot’s elbow. He smirked. “You ever flown in that mode before.” 

Minimus balked. “What are you talking about?” 

“I mean the Sea of Rust is horrible place for conversation.” Without sparing a moment for explanation, he grabbed Minimus by the scruff fairing and took off. He chuckled a little at Minimus’s surprised yip.  
  


* * *

  
Up on a clifftop, Minimus shook rust and sand out of his armor, having transformed into his bot mode. Sixshot didn’t bother doing either of those, simply watching him in stunned amusement. 

“Warn me next time you do that,” Minimus grumbled. 

“Next time?” Sixshot asked. 

Minimus glared at him, and it was so akin to the same look on Ultra Magnus’s face, that Sixshot could have fallen over dead right there. Instead, he laughed and settled down, crossing his paws in front of him once more. 

“Now, you were about to tell me something,” Sixshot said. 

Minimus sighed. “I heard rumors. Thought you might be out there.”

 

“And you came looking for me,” Sixshot said. “Cute.” 

“I thought after the war, you’d let your solitude end.” 

Sixshot just laughed at that. “And what? Walk into Iacon like nothing happened? Even the ex-Decepticons are terrified of me.” 

“I thought you might be lost out in the wilderness. In more ways than one,” Minimus said. “I came to bring you out of it.” 

“Why?” 

Minimus shrugged.

A shocked bark of laughter punched out of Sixshot at that before he realized he’d even made a sound. “Don’t tell me you’ve always been this flippant under your disguise. Was I missing out for the whole war?”

Minimus shook his head quickly. “No, no, I was never faking my personality. You met the real me… more of me than I’d intended.” 

Sixshot huffed at that, looking away. “Then what’s with this new attitude?” 

“I was lost for a long time,” Minimus said after a long pause. “I thought I’d found myself again, but… lately I feel like I might get lost again.” He leaned, trying to meet Sixshot’s darting eyes. “I thought maybe helping you might help me too.” 

Sixshot shook his head. “This is ridiculous. This isn’t like us. We just… we were always just…” 

“Two people with a duty,” Minimus answered for him. “There’s no duty anymore, Sixshot.” 

“So, what do you suggest?” 

“Same as you said a long time ago,” Minimus said. “We should stop meeting like this.” He reached out, seeming to be fed up with Sixshot’s wandering gaze, and rested a hand on Sixshot’s snout to force him to meet his gaze. “Let’s stick together for a change.” 

Sixshot reared up, pulling away. He squinted at the horizon as the sun was dipping towards it. He felt something that reminded him of the unnatural warmth of Dorven VIII, but he realized it wasn’t just the sun in his eyes. He’d felt the same in the tropical heat of Chrylas V and the barren ice fields of Talsaliak. 

He’d felt it any time there has been the slightest chance of escaping the solitude of his own thoughts and the slowly swirling stars. 

“Where to then?” he asked. 

Minimus shrugged, though Sixshot noticed the hesitation this time, as if each repetition of the nonchalant action was taking a toll on him. 

Sixshot grinned. “I like that answer.”


End file.
